


The Bodyguard

by rubix



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Bodyguard Aomine, Gun Violence, M/M, Politician Kise, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 15:03:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13954131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubix/pseuds/rubix
Summary: Ryouta is a politician on his way back from a speech when an attempt is made on his life.





	The Bodyguard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DigimonDestined](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DigimonDestined/gifts).



> God I wish I was more creative with titles. ANYWAYS this is for @digimondestined who asked:
> 
> "person A politician (I"M THINKING OF KISE AND I"M NOT SORRY) and person B bodyguard (I"M THINKING OF AOMINE AND I"M ONLY A LITTLE SORRY) and scandalsssssss"
> 
> It didn't turn out the way I wanted it to (NOT ENOUGH ANGST) but this happened so I hope you like it! xo

**The Bodyguard**

* * *

 

 

Ryōta doesn't bother to check the crowd before entering the limousine. Instead, he looks on amicably, stretching his mouth into a smile designed to make his cheeks ache and then waves to no one in particular.

He doesn't see the barrel of the gun slide between the arms of bystanders nor does he hear the crackling of a gunshot echoing over their cheers. He does, however, feel the heavy mass of a body slamming into him, the sudden weightlessness of being knocked off his feet and the intense, crushing blow as his own body hits the ground. For a minute Ryōta can't breathe and is afraid to open his eyes. When he does, part of him is relieved to see that one of his bodyguards is atop of him.

However, Ryōta is too dazed to piece together the sequence of events and too frightened to speak. His bodyguard sputters a cough that sounds like the exhaling air has scorched his lungs. “Stay down,” he demands in a voice that sounds as rough as sandpaper.

Ryōta nods, more worried about the dirt on his suit than what's happening around him. He stares blankly up at the sky, watching as the thick, pregnant clouds roll in, blotting out the remaining light. He frowns and wonders if he'll be able to make it back to the embassy before it begins to rain. He hates having to sit in traffic.

Another shot rings out, setting off a new succession of panic throughout what's left of the scattering crowd. Many of them drop to the ground and cover their ears; many of them cry or scream for help. It takes a few minutes to realise that an attempt has just been made on his life and strangely it doesn't scare Ryōta as much as it should.

There comes a barrage of gunfire and shouts being exchanged between his protectors and the assailant. Ryōta doesn't dare look. Moments later silence finally comes, only to be broken by the echoing wails of sirens in the air. Seconds turn into minutes and finally a hand clamps down on his wrist and yanks him up to his feet unceremoniously.

“Get inside and wait there,” Daiki commands, opening the door to the limousine. His face is smeared with dirt and blood and suddenly Ryōta's heart begins to race.

“You're hurt,” he finds himself whispering, his eyes falling on Daiki’s kevlar vest. He searches frantically for an open wound and finds no evidence of one.

“It's not my blood,” Daiki assures, softer this time. He places a hand on Ryōta’s shoulder and squeezes before turning away. There are two coin-like pieces of brass embedded in the material. One in the shoulder blade, perhaps a little lower towards the lungs. The other is directly in the middle of his spine.

Ryōta's hand trembles on the door handle and he fights the urge to begin gnawing on his fingernails, a nasty nervous habit he's had since childhood. Only then does severity of the situation settle in. It sits heavy in his gut and slick like engine oil in the back of his throat. He feels like he's going to be sick.

Daiki looks over his shoulder, narrows his eyes and takes his coiled concierge earpiece out. He waits a moment before saying, “Inside, Ryōta. Now.”

Ryōta does as he's told.

It's too quiet inside the car. Ryōta watches the bustle of secret service agents, police and paramedics secure the scene through the tinted windows. It doesn't appear that any of the crowd were injured but he can't be sure; the blood on Daiki's face had to have come from somewhere. He thinks about getting out and making some kind of speech or at least helping out. He doesn't want to look the typical indifferent politician that only cares about himself, even if there is some truth in that statement. He doesn't leave the vehicle, though.

The rain holds off. Aeon long minutes stretch into infinite hours before Daiki enters the car. Ryōta jumps then breathes a sigh of relief when he realises who it is. His gold skin no longer marred by dirt and blood. He's not wearing his vest and Ryōta can see the bulge of bandaging underneath his fitted black shirt.

“Are you alright?” he asks, as Daiki asks him the same question. Ryōta waits for his reply before voicing his own.

“Yeah,” Daiki says, leaning back against the leather. “Just some bruising.”

Ryōta nods. “I see.” He still feels like he’s going to throw up.

“Are you —?”

“I'm fine,” he replies, wringing his hands. “Was anyone hurt?”

“Another agent. It was just a graze, he's okay.”

“I'm glad you're alright,” Ryōta says, unable to keep his lips from slowly spreading into a smile. “You saved my life.”

Daiki looks out the window. “It’s my job,” he says pointedly.

Ryōta frowns. “Are you angry with me?”

“No, of course not,” he scowls, clicking his tongue off the roof of his mouth. “You have to be more careful, idiot.” His knee knocks the inside of Ryōta's. Before he can retort, Daiki taps on the partition, signalling for the chauffeur to begin driving. Ryōta thinks about apologising but doesn't. He knows where the other’s irritation is coming from. 

He sighs. "I'm sorry... I was a little freaked out. I'm glad you're safe."

“It's okay. I wouldn't have been if it weren't for you... Did you catch the shooter?”

“He's dead. Turns out it was an assassination attempt, maybe some kinda deluded obsession or hate crime.”

Ryōta shakes his head. “I don't understand.”

“Police searched his home and found pictures of you taped to the walls with your face scratched out and tabloid clippings of your latest scandal.”

“Scandal?” Ryōta shudders. 

“Yeah, you know the one.” Daiki leans in, placing a hand on Ryōta's knee. 

His heart flutters and the ill feeling from before eases. Ryōta catches Daiki's gaze and places his hand over the one on his knee. “Ah… the one where a political figure like myself is supposedly in love with my bodyguard?”

Daiki reaches up with his other hand, his fingers finding purchase in Ryōta's hair. He doesn't have move anymore, Ryōta is already dipping in pliantly. His lips brush Daiki's as his fingers splay across the other man's cheeks. Warmth blossoms in his chest when he feels the heat radiating from them in his palms.

“Are you?” Daiki asks, drawing in a breath. “Are you in love with him?”

“Yes.” Ryōta smiles as he presses his lips to Daiki's. They're always soft despite the wind-chapped texture of them. He catches a bite of cinnamon as Daiki's tongue sweeps languidly over his. He could get lost in this moment, forget today's events and just run away with this man but he knows he'll have to eventually face the public. Just not right now.

Ryōta parts from him for a beat, just long enough to rest his head against Daiki's forehead and say, “I love him very much.”

  
  
  



End file.
